


His Voice In The Dark

by Alaynes_Mirror



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 06:28:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5957035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alaynes_Mirror/pseuds/Alaynes_Mirror
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sandor Clegane was unable to escape during the Battle of the Blackwater and is given guard duty as punishment. After that night Sansa Stark finds herself lost within dreams that allow her to escape the confines of her prison.</p>
<p> <i>The promise of finding peace in slumber eluded Sansa lately and she was brought strange dreams to chase instead. </i></p>
<p>  <i>She was sat in a beautiful sunlit garden with Loras Tyrell, who looked as charming as ever with the way his golden curls framed his face. With a smile, he plucked a cupcake from one of the little china plates that lay on the table beside them and held it to Sansa’s mouth for her to bite. </i></p>
<p> <i>But Sansa wrinkled her nose at it and sat back in her chair, arms folded. </i></p>
<p> <i>Loras’s face clouded over.</i></p>
<p> <i>“I thought you liked cupcakes,” he mumbled. </i></p>
<p> <i>Sansa sighed. “They are awfully dull, you know. And the icing never tastes as good as I hope it will.”</i></p>
<p> <i>With a pout, Loras replied. “Well what do you want then?”</i></p>
<p> <i>“I know what she wants,” said a familiar rasping voice from behind Sansa. She gasped as his presence seemed to rip the vision in two and she felt big arms coil around her middle.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	His Voice In The Dark

**Author's Note:**

> I ticked the 'underage' box as a warning because chronologically I suppose Sansa would be underage here, but in my head she's aged up to around eighteen, but do what you wish with that! I suppose this is another dream-related fic, but for this one I wanted to focus on the idea of Sandor being linked to Sansa's sexual awakening. I wanted to explore the feeling of what it would be like for Sansa to experience such a heavy mixture of emotion and desire for the first time! Enjoy ;)

_Soothe the wrath and tame the fury..._

Sansa hummed absent-mindedly under her breath, her head resting on the windowsill as she gazed out over the city. It was a sunny day and she could hear the sound of seagulls circling around the castle turrets above. Everything was quiet today; Joffrey had taken what felt like half the kingdom out on a hunting trip to impress the Lady Margaery, his beautiful new betrothed. Sansa did not mind being left behind, for she knew she would have hated every moment of the trip, having to pretend to enjoy herself and fake pleasantries with everyone. Better that she was left alone and free to be honest with herself, although Sansa could not help but admit that it would have been nice to have someone to talk to. 

Sansa’s only source of company was the man who stood guard outside her room, Sandor Clegane. A few weeks ago he had told her he was leaving the city for good but, despite his intentions, had been found passed out in the stables, too drunk to even saddle his horse. For his desertion his status from the Kingsguard was revoked and, judged too fickle with his loyalty to do any more work of importance, he had been given guard duty until the foreseeable future. Sansa was pleased he had not gone. Ever since that night she felt as though the two shared a small secret, something fragile kept between just the two of them and it gave Sansa a source of comfort and strength. 

Sansa could see the shadow of his boots under the door as he stood sentient, yet occasionally she would hear him clear his throat or shift his position slightly. She enjoyed having him so close by and continued to hum a few lines of the song’s refrain, wondering what he could be thinking about. 

After Blackwater she had felt the walls come down a little between them. Cornered by the threat of dying at the hands of what he feared the most, Sandor had turned to Sansa and climbed her tower in search of a song. As green flames engulfed the sky outside, they had stared at each through the gates of hell and Sansa had seen something in his eyes that night. She had seen the broken bits of the man left behind the mask he wore so well, and the sight of it had washed her fear away, replaced by something new.

Sansa tried to bring herself out of those thoughts before they threatened to consume her, because there was more to that night than she cared to admit. 

It always came back to the kiss; that stolen embrace, those cruel honest lips that had pressed against hers so urgently. Sansa would always find her heart racing when she remembered it and doing so always seemed to have a curious effect on her. 

While she did not see much of The Hound during the day, she always found him again at night in her dreams. It was as though she were a wolf, picking her way through the deep dark woods of her unconscious mind, knowing where to go to find him. But why? Once Sansa would have been terrified at the thought of Sandor Clegane hunting her in her dreams with those dark eyes of his, but now the thought meant she eagerly anticipated the night, knowing she would be able to see him again.

Sansa felt herself blush and tried yet again to divert her attention to something else, scolding herself with the reminder that ladies should not have such improper thoughts. She should be sewing instead or working on her pleasantries, not dreaming of Sandor Clegane and what it would feel like to have his great hands wrapped around her. 

It wasn’t late, but Sansa felt herself growing sleepy in the afternoon sun and decided she would have a small sleep before dinner. Yawning, Sansa wound her hair into a loose plait and, deciding to wear nothing but a simple shift dress because of the heat, clambered into bed and soon found herself drifting off to sleep beneath the soft sheets.

But the promise of finding peace in slumber eluded her and Sansa was brought strange dreams to chase instead. 

She was sat in a beautiful sunlit garden with Loras Tyrell, who looked as charming as ever with his golden curls framing his face and his eyes sparkling in the sunshine. With a smile, he plucked a cupcake from one of the little china plates that lay on the table beside them and held it to Sansa’s mouth for her to bite. But Sansa wrinkled her nose at it and sat back in her chair, arms folded. Loras’s face clouded over.

“I thought you liked cupcakes,” he mumbled. 

Sansa sighed. “They are awfully dull, you know. And the icing never tastes as good as I hope it will.”

With a pout, Loras replied. “Well what _do_ you want then?”

“I know what she wants,” said a familiar rasping voice from behind Sansa. She gasped as his presence seemed to rip the vision in two and she felt big arms coil around her middle. Sandor Clegane kissed her throat, nibbling at the soft, pale flesh in a way that made Sansa’s toes curl in pleasure.

But then he was suddenly kneeling by her side, grinning wickedly up at her. “So that’s how the little bird wants to play the game, is it?”

Sansa looked down and realised she was holding out a piece of lemon cake in the palm of her hand, offering it to him. 

Sandor laughed low in his throat. “Don’t you know a lady shouldn’t feed her dog at the table? It might encourage bad manners,” he grinned again, putting emphasis on the word ‘bad,’ and took the cake in his mouth from her open hand. 

Sansa’s eyes widened at his boldness and watched as he began to kiss up her arm hungrily which made her giggle. Then he nuzzled into her neck again, continuing to kiss her there and the whole time Sansa felt a warm sensation beginning to throb inside her. She lost herself in the feeling of having Sandor’s rough lips caress her soft skin, and then his teeth nipped her a little harder than before and it made Sansa cry out with pleasure.

The sound of her voice seemed to carry her out of the dream and dropped her back into bed. It took but a moment to realise what had happened and Sansa clapped her hands to her mouth, praying that no one had heard. She was aware of her own quickened heartbeat, and the sweat that made her dress cling to her skin.

There was a loud banging on the door and Sansa flung herself under the duvet, as though trying to convince even herself that she had been sleeping innocently. There was a moment more of silence before the door burst open and Sandor Clegane barged into the room, his eyes wild with alarm.

“What is it?” He barked.

Sansa was too mortified to say anything and hid her face beneath the duvet. Sandor strode to the window searching for any signs of a disturbance, but finding none, he turned back to her with a questioning gaze.

Sansa felt very aware of how flustered she looked and knew he could see it too. 

Fearing he might try to discover the reason for her flushed cheeks, she scrambled to find her voice. “It’s nothing, I’m sorry to have bothered you. I’m fine, please don’t worry.”

But perhaps he could hear the silent plea in her voice and read it wrong, for he walked towards the bed, his voice softening slightly.

“Are you ill?” Sandor asked.

“No,” Sansa trailed off, unsure of what to call the feeling even if she _did_ want to tell him the truth.

Sandor’s gaze hardened. “Don’t lie to me, girl. A dog can smell a lie.”

“I know,” said Sansa quickly, not wanting to seem as though she was deceiving him. “I just... had a funny dream that’s all.”

She watched his eyes narrow with suspicion. “Dream? What kind of dream?”

A new wave of heat rushed to Sansa’s neck and cheeks as she recalled her vision, but she took a deep breath and tried to recount it a little more innocently than it really was.

“Well, Ser Loras was in it...” She began, remembering the way she had eyed his cupcake with disinterest.

But Sansa’s trail of thought was broken by the sudden visible change in Sandor’s expression as his jaw tightened while he surveyed her guilty glistening skin and heated cheeks.

“I see how it is,” he growled, anger seeming to rip through his voice. “So the thought of one of your pretty knights got too much for the little bird’s dainty head, is that it? Then I’ll leave you to your precious daydreams.”

And with that he strode towards the door but Sansa, feeling a flutter of panic at his leaving in anger, called out in desperation. “I dreamed of you!”

Sandor froze for a moment and Sansa knew he was trying to decide what that line meant. “The last time I checked I was no buggering curly golden knight,” he said, finally.

Sansa fumbled for a description that didn’t make her seem like a wanton woman. “Well, Ser Loras was there and he offered me something but I didn’t want it.” Sansa took a deep breath, begging her cheeks not to betray her sinful thoughts. “Then you offered me something else instead and I took it.”

After a pause, Sandor looked round at her with an odd expression. “What did I offer you?”

_He’ll know if you lie,_ she thought to herself and decided that silence was better. She looked away, hoping he would give up and quit the room so she could scream into her pillow to relieve the feeling of humiliation and desire that still burned inside her.

But she heard his footsteps approach the bed and felt it sag under his weight as he sat down beside her. Sansa allowed herself to steal a glance at him and saw he was looking at the ceiling, which made her feel a little more relaxed at not having his intense gaze on her.

Sansa chewed her lip anxiously. She knew she could trust Sandor, he would not tell anyone about the dream, but he might laugh at her, or even worse think less of her for it and be disgusted that she had thought of him so intimately without his permission. 

“Would you think badly of me if I told you?” She asked, nervously.

Sandor shrugged. “Can’t blame a man for being honest.” 

She hugged her knees and took a deep breath. “You ate a... a lemon cake from my...” Sansa’s voice died away and with a squeal she buried her head in her hands, unable to reveal any further the wickedly pleasurable scene she had beheld. 

Sandor inched closer to her. “A lemon cake?” He chortled. “I don’t know what kind of dream that could have been.”

But from the way Sandor looked at her she got the curious feeling that he knew _exactly_ what kind of dream it had been. Though that thought confused her it also gave her an odd sense of confidence, for it was the shock and scandal of it that Sansa feared most from his reaction.

“You ate a lemon cake from my hand and you...” Sansa swallowed, recalling the delicious details. “You k-kissed my arm and my neck and it...” at this confession she felt herself burn brighter than before, remembering the feel of his lips on her skin. “It felt nice.”

She watched his face for signs of revulsion or horror, but he merely seemed surprised. 

“You liked it?” Sandor asked, and there was the tiniest whisper of a boy’s shyness beneath it all.

Sansa nodded, biting her lip again.

Sandor looked at her with a soft expression and for a moment he seemed to have an air of vulnerability about him. But then as quickly as it had come, the emotion snapped from his gaze and he wrenched her chin towards him, the way he always did when searching for lies. “Are you laughing at me?” He growled.

Sansa was shocked at the change in his voice, but more than that she was sad for him, to see that someone admitting a feeling of affection for him could warrant such suspicion and fear.

“Never,” she whispered, and something in her clear blue eyes made him believe her. 

His grip on Sansa slackened and he sat back, a great sigh escaping his lips. He ran a gloved hand through his hair and shook his head. 

“Why do you do this to me, little bird?” He muttered, more to himself than to her it seemed.

Sansa frowned. “Do what?”

“Tease me.”

Sansa stuck her chin out defiantly. “I can assure you that it was _you_ who teased _me._ ”

Sandor chuckled, a rough scratching sound in his throat. But then he eyed her with a look that made Sansa’s insides tighten and he suddenly moved so close to her that they were but a breath apart.

“I wonder what the little bird would do if a dog truly did try to bite her, like he did in this dream of hers?”

Sansa coloured at his words and felt the throbbing come aching back, as though his voice alone brought it tumbling from her dreams.

Sandor leaned forward as though he meant to kiss her, but his cheek brushed against hers and he turned to rest his head on her shoulder. 

“Don’t you know what you do to a man when you blush like that?” 

But then he looked up at her again, his dark eyes full of want and wonder. “And I’m the one who did that to you?”

Sansa smiled faintly, hardly knowing how to react with him so close. “More than the once, I confess.” She paused. “I often dream of you kissing me.”

“I want to do more than just kiss you, girl, believe that,” he said hungrily. 

From the way he looked at her, Sansa knew that too and though the thought made her a little nervous, it also added to the warmth that was gathering in the pit of her stomach. “I wish you would,” she whispered.

Sandor watched her carefully for a moment and then raised a thick eyebrow. “Was I armoured in this dream?”

“No,” Sansa admitted.

With a smirk Sandor removed his gloves and began undoing the buckles of his armour. Sansa watched him intently. She had never seen a real man remove his armour before and found the act oddly intimate. He then sat before her, wearing only his breeches and a rough tunic, the neckline of which revealing a patch of dark curls. Sansa was suddenly very curious to find out what it felt like, but then without further warning Sandor pinned her arms against the headboard, grinning. 

“Why don’t you tell me exactly what I did in this little fantasy of yours.”

Sansa’s breathing became shallow. _He was going to do it!_ He was going to kiss and touch her, the way she always loved when her head was settled amongst the clouds.

“You were behind me.”

Sandor pulled Sansa towards him in that oddly gentle way he had, and settled her in his lap so that her back was against his chest. For a moment nothing happened and Sansa was about to turn around to see if something was wrong, but then she felt hands pulling at the ribbon that held her plaited hair in place. Sansa was surprised at his actions but closed her eyes as he began running his hands through the long silky locks that now tumbled freely down. She unconsciously leaned her head back, sighing contently. Any feeling of nervousness died away in that moment and she allowed herself to entirely relax in Sandor’s hands. 

Sandor nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck, breathing in the scent of her hair and took a moment to simply hold her like that. 

But then Sansa’s breath hitched in her throat as Sandor raised himself up to sit on his haunches, meaning Sansa’s body was stretched out befor him, her dress now barely concealing the shape of her body.

“Like this?” Sandor breathed against her ear, sending goose-bumps down Sansa’s pale skin.

Sansa nodded, the throbbing down below increasing as one of his great hands held her ribs while the other settled on her hip. Then his hand moved to trace the tender inner flesh of her thigh and Sansa moaned softly as his hand moved up her leg, pushing the dress up. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, as he realised she was entirely bare beneath, with no smallclothes on.

He continued to push up under her dress, running his hands over her stomach and ribs with her smooth skin stretched out for him so readily. He cupped one of her teats which filled his hand and squeezed it, the sensation making Sansa breath heavily and she felt further tension building between her thighs. She reached behind and put her arms around his neck to allow him better access to her body. He noticed this and rubbed a calloused thumb over her nipple, making Sansa shudder with pleasure as the feeling sent shooting bursts of desire through her body. 

“Do you ache, little bird?” He murmured. “Do you ache for me?”

“Yes,” Sansa panted, needing him to do something, _anything_ to relieve the built up feeling inside her.

He chuckled and she felt how the noise made his chest and throat vibrate against her body.

Sandor then placed his hand beneath the curly auburn locks nestled in between her legs and stroked her slit with one finger. Sansa whimpered at the sensation, feeling her cheeks burn as it made her body twitch.

Sansa knew this was all very unladylike and utterly wicked, but Sandor felt so good that there was no way she would ever tell him to stop. She had never felt such an intense feeling of pleasure before, with the only touches given to her by men usually ending in pain or tears. But with Sandor it was different; he brought her something that was entirely new.

He continued to stroke her, the wetness there pooling around his fingers. Sansa cried out and raked her nails through his hair. Sandor groaned at the feeling and Sansa felt his great hips move beneath her. That brought a new wave of desire ripple through her body and it unconsciously responded as her bottom grinded against his crotch.  
Sandor growled and the hand on her hip gripped a little harder as he moved underneath her again, his fingers continuing to stroke the bud that brought Sansa so much sweetness.  
“Let me taste you,” Sandor murmured.

He turned Sansa so they looked at one another, eyes reflecting warmth and desire. Sandor ran a hand through her hair and pulled her towards him. He kissed her deeply, hungrily which made Sansa open her mouth to his and with surprise, felt his tongue touch and caress hers. It felt incredible and Sansa moaned, locking her legs around Sandor’s thick waist to bring him closer to her. Sandor ran his other hand over her bare bottom, squeezing it and Sansa felt him grin through the kiss.

“Gods, Sansa,” he groaned. “Has there ever been a more perfect arse than yours?”

Sansa giggled, devilishly pleased that he admired her body. Their lips grazed one another’s as Sandor began to grind himself against her again, quicker this time, and Sansa felt something begin to coil up inside her.

“Sandor, I-” she panted, unsure of what her body was doing, only that it felt wonderful. 

“It’s alright, little bird,” he replied, his voice thick with desire. “Sing for me.”

He held her tighter and Sansa ran her hands beneath his tunic, caressing his body, the feeling of his thick muscles and rough curly hair making her feel light-headed as she tried to take it all in.

Sansa’s head rolled back and her breathing became shallow as the pressure began to build steeply inside her. Sandor too, seemed almost at breaking point.

Suddenly Sansa saw stars behind her eyes and her entire body felt as though fireworks were shooting up inside her. She cried out and wrapped her arms around Sandor’s neck, and felt her lower muscles clench and unclench. Then Sandor swore and moaned her name again and again as he pulled her tighter down on him, his hips pounding against her bottom. Eventually they both slowed, their breath ragged. Sandor was panting and Sansa smiled serenely at him.

Gently Sandor lowered her down onto the bed and fell beside her, his shoulders shaking slightly.

They lay beside one another, reveling in the sweetness of their tumbling downward spiral. 

Sansa gazed at Sandor, taking in his shaking shoulders, his closed eyes and his pounding heartbeat. She felt as though he too, had somehow given himself to her.

She knew, now, that she would no longer settle for lonely encounters with a ghost of Sandor in her dreams, she needed his warm skin, flushed cheeks and his low voice in the dark; she wanted the mask and the man behind it.

Sansa nestled herself in Sandor’s arms and he held her to him. It felt as though between them they had built a small sanctuary within the walls that restrained the two of them so completely. 

“I think I’m going to like guard duty,” Sandor chuckled.

Sansa grinned and kissed him. “I look forward to our time together.”


End file.
